


sugar nor spice

by babelincoln



Category: 2NE1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Bartender Gong Minji | Minzy, Brief Chaera, F/F, Socialite Lee Chaerin | CL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:34:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26227231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babelincoln/pseuds/babelincoln
Summary: minji has been doing her research. lee chaerin. heiress, socialite, supermodel, one-time critically panned actress. she has a line of perfumes that minji assumes she contributed nothing but a name to, and has had a dizzying string of tabloid-proclaimed love affairs. minji hasn’t known many of chaerin’s type, but she’s certainly watched them from afar, taken dark fascination in the workings of their minds.people who can have whatever they want get bored quick, and entertain themselves by playing games. whatever chaerin’s sudden interest in her means, minji would like to think she was a little too smart to let herself be toyed with.
Relationships: Gong Minji | Minzy/Lee Chaerin | CL
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10
Collections: Girl Group Jukebox - Mixtape Round





	sugar nor spice

**Author's Note:**

> written for gg jukebox mixtape round, inspired by devil by slayyyter.

it’s all a balancing act; and minji walks the trapeze with ease.

it’s a performance; albeit one that nobody watches and nobody remembers. the way she walks, a foot directly in front of the other; purposeful in spite of the death defying shoes she’s contracted to wear. stilettos; a razor thin heel that always feels like it’s just one more step away from giving out under her and sending her plummeting. there’s a sway in her hips, coquettish and way more choreographed than she makes it look. 

her hair is pulled tight into the high ponytail all the bottle girls wear. it takes her full hours to style it in a way that doesn’t show any of the tracks of the extensions her hire was conditional on. she can’t afford the good hair some of the girls get done. the shirt of her uniform is tied just under her chest; her shorts feel like an undergarment; and she ignores comments from men all night. or she smiles at them, so she doesn’t get fired.

balancing, performing, it has to be something. it has to be a role; or her theatre degree was all for nothing and her parents were right. 

she doesn’t watch enough tv to know who most of these people are; the famous for being famous crew, but they’re Somebody, because a body guard stops her from lifting the velvet rope into the vip section and does it himself. she shoots him a confused look as she passes. 

artists, is her first thought; or sons and daughters who will never have to work a day in their lives. around seven men and women, each with their hair dyed a different colour of the rainbow. between them they must have a hundred different piercings and a thousand different tattoos. minji isn’t one to judge; though she internally winces when she imagines her own mothers reaction. she was still terrified to tell her about the tiny little heart she’d gotten on her hip.

“what’s your name?” somebody asks. minji is busy setting the glasses out on the table, dropping the bottle of champagne off in the center. unless they explicitly ask her to, she won’t pop the cork for them. she knows how to do it without making a mess, but she’ll leave them to do it on their own anyway- the mess is part of the fun. begrudgingly, when the foam has dried and become sticky and the club empties out, minji will clean up after them and keep her complaints to herself. 

minji has no reason to assume she’s being spoken to, so she stutters a little to look up and meet a pair of eyes. lined with razor sharp wings and looking deep into her expectedly. “huh?” she asks, dumbly. 

the woman smiles politely. her hair is silver, cascading in waves down her shoulders, tucked behind one ear. she looks around minji’s age, maybe a few years older, though every part of his is pristine. a painting of a woman, with flawless hair and flawless makeup and an outfit that minji suspects cost more than she’d ever earned in her life. “what’s your name?” she asks again. the music is loud, and it seems like she assumes minji simply couldn’t hear; saving her from some embarrassment.

“oh. sorry, i’m minji.” minji says. 

“i’m lee chaerin.” she says, throwing her hair over her shoulder. her dress is low cut, the glisten of her diamond chain draws minji’s eyes downwards for just a little too long. a man next to chaerin, with black undercut hair and the corners of a tattoo peeking around from the back of his head, snickers.

“she knows.” he says with a foxlike smirk, doing something on the table with a credit card that minji is supposed to ignore. she knows better than to admit she has no clue who chaerin is.

chaerin rolls her eyes, giving him a little bit of a nudge. when minji bows her goodbye and leaves the vip area, she feels chaerin’s eyes on her the whole way out. 

* * *

minji rarely worked behind the bar. the club preferred to have the women on the floor, parading through the throngs of people, balancing trays of shots high above the air. minji was good at convincing herself she enjoyed the attention. there was definitely a rush to the performance of it all, to paint her face and do her hair and be mona lisa and the girl with the diamond earring. looked at and admired, six inches taller than she is with a ponytail that swings below her ass behind her. she enjoys the prettiness of it, sure. but all it takes is one man to pass her, and for  _ some reason _ , think that in doing so he needs to splay his sweaty hand upon the exposed skin of her lower back. 

there are definite cons to being out among the party.

bar work is a relief, in some ways. it’s her first day back from a week off, and she’s glad to be easing herself back into things. working in a nightclub would always be chaotic, but she could at least somewhat go into autopilot here. ignore the ache of her ankles in her horrid shoes, the headache her hair is giving her, the microwave heat all those bodies packed together fill the room with. easy, hopefully uneventful, over in no time.

except, for three hours, lee chaerin has sat at the bar. down among the common folk, manicured nail running across the rim of her cocktail glass, looking at minji. minji catches her, each time, and her eyes flick down to her phone. minji tries to tune her out the same way she does leering men. 

the thing is, chaerin’s in a lacy black sort of bralette; the type only a celebrity would be tolerated wearing in public. it’s very sheer. and glitter is spread across her skin, twinkling constellations over her chest. minji finds it very, very hard not to stare back. 

“can i have another one?” chaerin asks, voice loud enough to be heard and yet still gentle, when minji finally makes eye contact with her. she’s halfway through serving a group of drunken men in their early thirties, and she holds up a finger to signal ‘one second.’ 

minji has been doing her research. lee chaerin. heiress, socialite, supermodel, one-time critically panned actress. she has a line of perfumes that minji assumes she contributed nothing but a name to, and has had a dizzying string of tabloid-proclaimed love affairs. minji hasn’t known many of chaerin’s type, but she’s certainly watched them from afar, taken dark fascination in the workings of their minds. 

people who can have whatever they want get bored quick, and entertain themselves by playing games. whatever chaerin’s sudden interest in her means, minji would like to think she was a little too smart to let herself be toyed with. 

when she brings chaerin her cocktail, chaerin downs it all in one and takes something out of her purse. with a dirty grin, she stands upright on the footrest of the bar stool, leaning forward over the bar. minji is about to tell her to get down, but something cool and rough touches her abdomen. two of chaerin’s fingers, separated from minji’s skin by the thin paper of a banknote. they slide down, slowly, make a show of it. until they tuck underneath the waistband of her short shorts, withdrawing quickly, leaving the note behind. 

“this isn’t that type of establishment.” minji says dryly, pretending the path of chaerin’s fingers haven’t set her nerves on fire, burnt into her and almost pulsing. 

“relax, it’s just a tip.” chaerin says, gathering her phone and purse and hopping down from the bar stool, disappearing into the crowd. minji pulls the note from her shorts and examines it. ₩50,000. it would be a decent tip had she not recently google lee chaerin’s net worth. 

* * *

one day after work, minji’s picking up a late night snack from the 24 hour supermarket when she spots chaerin’s face on the paper cover of a trashy tabloid; misaimed at teenage girls who it’s dejected 30-something writers have no idea how to cater to. it screams at her;

**_lee chaerin - yet another boo!?_ **

and minji rolls her eyes. rolls her eyes and buys the magazine. 

* * *

here is everything minji has learned about sandara park. 

she’s not quite the next big thing yet, but everybody predicts she’ll be the next next big thing. her music is weird, experimental in a way that only really gay people on twitter seem to get. but that’s a large power to rally behind an artist, and last year five different labels fought to sign sandara park. she has the face of an angel, was working as a model for a few years before she really dove into music. it’s particularly impressive because she’s so short, apparently. minji finds out that short girls just  _ don’t  _ get modelling gigs. 

she grew up in the philippines, moved to korea during her last year of high school. she trained for seven years under a record label that always found excuses not to debut her, and when she finally found herself free, she returned to the philippines for a few years. she came back to try again four years ago, because she hated the feeling of giving up. 

sandara carries herself in a very composed manner. there’s a handful of press videos; those dumb little games celebrities play for magazines’ youtube channels, recorded radio interviews about her music, none of which is radio friendly in the slightest. she talks about things like how important it is for her to write her own lyrics, how she likes to take a hands-on role in the visual storytelling of her art. when talking about one of her music videos, she references an art movement from the 1800s that minji immediately forgets as soon as she gets done googling it. 

obviously, minji had done a lot of googling. 

because sandara was a true anomaly. an artist’s artist, a songwriter and an intellectual. minji could not make sense of sandara being all of that and sitting in the vip area of a nightclub on lee chaerin’s lap. 

when minji drops the bottle of champagne off at the table, chaerin tilts sandara’s chin and brings her close, taking her in a kiss. minji distributes the glasses around the table and doesn’t look. she doesn’t look at chaerin’s fingers running through the back of sandara’s curled hair, or the way her other hand rests on sandara’s knee. she doesn’t look at chaerin’s hand as it runs, slowly, up sandara’s thigh; under her skirt, just briefly, before sandara laughs into the kiss and pulls it away. 

when minji reaches the velvet rope, she looks back. and just for a split second, the length it takes for false eyelashes to flutter closed, minji catches chaerin kissing sandara with open eyes.

staring right at her.

* * *

minji doesn’t see chaerin again for weeks. the tabloids continue to gossip about her, though minji respects herself too much to pick up a magazine like that. there’s no telling how much, if any, of it was true. but chaerin and sandara’s relationship, if the quippy headlines minji had noticed on their cover were to be believed, was already tumultuous. 

one day minji takes a smoke break out back, and finds she’s not alone. further down the alleyway is another woman, sparking an empty lying and cursing under her breath. she shivers in her party dress.

minji approaches chaerin and offers her lighter to her. chaerin mumbles her gratitude, leaning back against the brick wall of the club’s exterior. minji takes her place next to her, lighting her own cigarette. 

“how much of it is true?” minji asks. perhaps she’s overstepping. but out here, lee chaerin is just a girl. she doesn’t carry that same weight she does in the club; with a thousand eyes staring at her in ardent worship. it’s just them. equal footing. “all the shit they write about you.” 

chaerin takes a long drag, puffin. as much of it back out through her nostrils as she can, filtering the rest through the part of her glossy lips as she speaks. “nothing about me is true.” she says, factually, looking up at where the corner of the building next door meets the black sky. 

“what about sandara?” asks minji.

chaerin smirks. “it’s her job to write, and mine to be written about.” 

* * *

they break up. and chaerin launches a perfume. and sandara teases an album.

* * *

chaerin spends two hours at the bar, nursing the same cocktail; and when she finishes it, she simply sits. 

minji is supposed to ask lingering customers to move on, if you’re not ordering a drink, get out onto the dance floor and make use of your entry fee. but lee chaerin does not pay admission, minji’s pretty sure the club pays  _ her  _ to be here, so she leaves her be. 

occasionally, a clubgoer who doesn’t really understand how things work here approaches chaerin and asks for a picture. minji keeps an eye on them, ready to step in and derail the situation if things get too petting zoo; but chaerin simply complies. no fuss, minimal flirting, no sassy comment. she smiles pretty, waves them off, and lets her face drop again. turns her attention back to her phone. 

“can i get you another drink?” minji asks, during a fleeting second of free time. chaerin smiles politely and shakes her head no. 

minji has two theories.

theory a is that lee chaerin has had her heart broken. whatever cynical one-liner she had rattled off about sandara, it was a protective measurement and she is, in fact, devastated by the loss of her relationship. perhaps she’s devastated by the loss of  _ all  _ of them. perhaps lee chaerin is a misunderstood rebel, the heartbroken posing as the heartbreaker. maybe all it takes is the right girl, one who doesn’t want anything from her, anything but her.

theory b is that lee chaerin has decided the direct approach isn’t working, and has settled on a new approach. one that clearly works.

lee chaerin doesn’t get up to dance once, even as friends approach. tattoohead comes down to beckon her up to the vip area, and minji watches her decline from the corner of the eye as she serves a patron. she’s up to  _ something.  _ minji decides. nobody comes to a club to have one drink, refuse to dance, and ignore their friends. especially not chaerin. she’s supposed to be the light of the party. moreso than being written about, that is her job. 

the dj tells everyone to go home, and chaerin doesn’t budge. as the last dregs of the dancefloor file out to the queue forming pick their coats up, minji eyes chaerin expectantly.

“you want me to throw you out?” she asks in the cadence of a joke, gathering abandoned glasses from the bar. chaerin looks at her with a heavy gaze.

“no,” she says, slipping her phone into her bra. “i want you to take me home.”

and so minji is faced head on with a decision; will she tangle herself in chaerin’s web? 

* * *

minji had imagined it all to be a little more glamorous.

a limo ride filled with choking sexual tension. her work uniform passionately torn from her; what little buttons were actually done up ripped apart at the thread, clattering across the marble floors of chaerin’s penthouse. pushed against the ceiling to floor windows; put on display for the city below. 

they get in minji’s car and drive to minji’s tiny studio apartment. there’s not much glamour in that. 

and yet they still find passion. as soon as minji’s room door is closed, chaerin pushes her up against it. their lips clash together; admittedly a little gracelessly, though minji is too preoccupied with the hands wrapping around her waist to really care. she kisses chaerin back eagerly, her hands wrapping around the back of her neck. her back arches, body pressing flush against chaerin’s. 

chaerin is eager too, finding the knot of minji’s button up and pulling apart. she undoes each button by hand, pushing it from minji’s shoulders. minji shivers a little, maybe from the cold or maybe from the way that chaerin pulls away from her lips to kiss her neck, hands slowly dragging up minji’s abdomen to cup gently around the bottom of her breasts. her thumbs run along them, tracing her nipples over her bra. minji’s body twitches, anchoring herself on chaerin’s neck as she buries her face into her shoulder.

“you’re so cute.” chaerin coos. her hands continue their journey, travelling up her chest until they rest on her shoulders; and then they detour down, cupping around her arms until her fingers link around minji’s wrists. she pulls away then, dragging minji into the room. when they reach the bed, she gently pushes minji down. 

minji’s back hits the mattress with a soft  _ oh _ , and chaerin wastes no time. she’s straddling her within seconds, leaning back down to kiss her again. minji melts underneath her, a hand wrapping around the small of her waist. chaerin tastes like fruity cocktails and tobacco, and her hair falls around minji’s head, a silver halo scented with cherry shampoo. 

chaerin is quick to find her way back to minji’s neck, though this time she doesn’t stop there. slowly, teasingly, chaerin kisses down to her collarbones and further still, past her chest, down her abdomen, leaving a trail of pink lipstick marks as she goes. 

when she reaches minji’s hip, she sucks a bruise into it; and minji covers her face in the crook of her elbow, stomach already twitching. she’s too far gone to be annoyed that she’ll have to cover that for work tomorrow night. even moreso when chaerin pops open the button of her shorts, pulling them from her frame and dropping them to the floor. 

chaerin gives minji’s other hip a matching bruise before she pulls her panties to the side and settles between minji’s legs. 

minji feels her lips on her, closes her eyes, and falls prey.

* * *

minji wakes in the morning, and though she shouldn’t be surprised, a pang of disappointment rattles through her chest when she realises she’s been left in an empty bed. she grimaces as she sits up, the headache settling deep in her skull. she’d fallen asleep with her hair scraped back into her ponytail. she winces as she pulls the hair tie out and it falls around her shoulders, aching at the root from the shift in position. it’s matted with hairspray and there’s still about three dozen pins diggin into her scalp. 

with a sigh, she pulls each track of extension out, tossing them onto the empty side of the bed. one by one, she strips them all out, until her hair falls only past her shoulders again and she feels a little more like a human being. 

there’s another groan as she stands, ankles aching still from her heels. the pain travels up the back of her calves; and not for the first time, minji laments on the torture of making oneself pretty enough.

flicking the bathroom light on, she shuffles in, the cold tiles beneath her bare feet causing some relief to their pain. it takes her a few seconds to realise that her mirror has been defaced. 

in messy penmanship, lee chaerin has left a parting message in pink lipstick:

**_YOU TOP NEXT TIME XX_ **

**Author's Note:**

> i had so much fun writing this, so hopefully you guys enjoy it! please feel free to leave a comment if you did! thank you for reading.


End file.
